Angels?
by AIs4Awsome
Summary: inspired by Hush Hush but with my own characters and plot. eighteen year old em is a normal high school student...until she starts to get involved with a guy in her class who might be an angel...kind of. Pleas read/review PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! seriously considering publishing
1. Chapter 1

Okay. Don't panic. Do not panic. It's only my biology test result– really just a piece of paper. I mean, how scary can a piece of paper be?

I stare out the window of Mr. Field's second floor bio room, willing myself to flip over the crisp white piece of paper lying face down on the black chrome lab bench in front of me. It's only a piece of paper, I tell myself for the hundredth time. And I'm not completely stupid am I? I know exactly how well I did on that test.

Sort of. Not really…

I probably got a…%65. At least. After all, I did study. Okay so I didn't exactly study my brains out or anything but I did take a look at my bio notes the night before the test. I remember because that was the night Maris and I had that Friends Season three marathon. Maris had just got the box set from her cousin and she came over right after dinner just when I was sitting down to review my notes and….oh crap. I didn't really get around to actually reviewing them, did I?

Okay. Don't panic. I repeat, do not panic.

I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself but failing miserably. What was it that Dad said he would do if I failed this test? Oh right. Take away the keys to my Honda Civic. Oh crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Why is it that the onetime Dad threatens me with grounding it involves taking away my car? Why couldn't he have just been like any other dad and threaten to take away my T.V. privileges or my internet access or something instead? My car is like my unofficial baby, and yes, I know that sounds weird but it's true. Just the mere thought of losing my car motivates me to take another deep breathe while inwardly praying I won't start hyperventilating against my will.

At the lab stool next to mine Tanya Edwards looks up from her test. Of course she has that smug "I am so the shit" smile plastered across her squished pug-like little face. She only ever smiles like that after she's aced a test or has gotten an insanely good mark on an assignment. Which is pretty much all the time. I loathe Tanya Edwards.

"Okay, Emma?"

"Fine," I say, a little too lightly, "Just looking over my test."

I force myself to smile and nonchalantly flip over the piece of paper, goaded by her curious gaze. Almost immediately my smile disappears. The page is black with type and messy with my erratic handwriting. Of course, it's not messy enough to distract from the large %32 menacingly scrawled in bright red ink at the top right corner of the page.

%32.

"Oh my God." I say aloud.

"Hmmmm?" says Tanya.

I don't even bother acknowledging her; instead I sit for roughly thirty seconds completely motionless. Then, finally, without changing my expression, I bend over beside my stool and stuff the test into my purse.

When I resurface, Tanya is watching me, that ridiculous smile still glued to her face.

"You sure everything is alright, Emma?" she asks in mock concern that nearly causes my eyes to roll on their own. Oh please. As if Tanya actually gives a half a rat's ass if I'm alright or not. No doubt she just wants me to spill that I completely annihilated my bio test; then she can go run off to her little nerd herd friends and tell them that Emma White is so stereotypical popular dumb blonde cheerleader she could be a cartoon cut out.

"Of course I'm alright," I practically sniff doing my best "You are ever so beneath me, thou mere mortal" act. I even throw in a hair toss, almost smacking her right across the face with my glossy sheet of (okay I'll admit unnatural) blonde hair. I honestly feel like I just stepped off the set of "Mean Girls" but this girl really gets to me. It's really not fair that a girl who looks like she could quite possibly be a blood relative to Otis from Milo and Otis could be such a goddamn genius.

"I just did a lot better on my test than I thought I would," I lie, trying to imitate her patented smug smile. "I got %80." I add while flicking a piece of imaginary lint off the front of my cream colored completely lint-free top. Okay, another lie but whatever. There is no way I'm going to let this girl think I'm some stereotypical dumb blonde cheerleader off of – ew - Glee or something. God forbid.

"Oh, that's good, I guess." Tanya says nonchalantly glancing down at her chewed up nails, "I got a %91."

Fuck me.

She must see my face fall into a look of utter defeat because she says almost sympathetically, "But %80 is still pretty decent. Good for you, Emma." I find myself actually waiting for her to toss me a cookie or give me a little pat on the head when Mr. Field's calls our attention back to the front of the room now that he has finished passing out the tests.

"Alright, I can't say I was exactly pleased with the results on this one, especially considering the subject review I practically spoon fed you all the day before the test." Mr. Field says, leaning his elbows against his desk and eyeing us almost accusingly. The man may be bald as an egg and a good forty pounds over what is considered to be a "healthy weight" but that doesn't mean he can't pull off being intimidating. "And especially considering my repeat offers of voluntary lunch help for those of you struggling with the material in this course – which happens to be the majority of you. Seriously, people. Only two out of thirty odd students in this class received a passable grade on this test. Two people. That's an embarrassment."

Ouch. I try not to physically wince, knowing it will probably give my little lie away to Tanya who – of course - doesn't miss a thing. Out of the corner of my eye I see her practically light up like a goddamn Christmas tree. The cow.

"Those of you who passed, you know who are and congratulations. However, for the rest of you, while I am extremely disappointed, I've decided to be the nice guy here and give you a second chance. You may not deserve it, but it is what it is. I'll expect you to have – completed and typed – a five page double spaced assignment on the medically classified disease of your choice on my desk tomorrow by 3:30pm. Alright?"

As if on cue, thirty something teenagers erupt in a chorus of groans and profuse cursing. Not surprising really; and as much as I would love to join in with everyone else, I still can't let Tanya think I've bombed the test. As far as she knows, it's only me and her who have passed it even though I'm sure it's more than obvious who the second person who passed the test is….

"Okay, settle down, settle down," Mr. Field's continues, silencing everyone with a couple dismissive sweeps of his massive hands, "You know, this is an AP level biology class, everyone should know what to expect by now –"

I furtively roll my eyes, knowing it's time to start zoning out. At least once a month Mr. Fields makes this totally pointless and agonizingly boring speech about the demands and requirements of being in an AP bio class; how we should do our homework, take notes, blah, blah, blah if we expect to pass and receive a university level science credit on our transcripts – "'Cause God knows a college level will get you nowhere" according to Mr. Fields. Of course, I'm willing to bet the only two people even bothering to listen to this little tirade is Tanya and maybe…

I glance over my shoulder to check the desk at the very back of the classroom but to my complete surprise, Garnet O' Conner isn't even looking at Mr. Fields. Instead he's got his face down on the desk, looking to be pretty much asleep, arms encircling his head. I can barely hide my surprise. Garnet O'Conner is probably the single smartest kid in Mr. Field's senior AP bio class, with only Tanya coming in at a close-but-no-cigar second. Seriously; I wouldn't even be surprised if he turned out to be the smartest kid at West Jefferson High. Ever. I'm actually willing to bet my Honda Civic that Garnet was the only person other than Tanya to pass the test; but, of course, you probably would never in a million years guess that by looking at him. Garnet O'Conner may be ridiculously smart but he's still kind of a weird-o. We're talking about a kid who has literally zero friends. I repeat; zero friends. Absolutely none. Zip. Nada. Has been that way since elementary school, I am not even kidding you. I mean how could you not NOT have friends…right? Then again, you kind of have to talk to have friends and this kid does not talk. At. All. Ever. I sit beside him in fourth period English and I swear to you I haven't heard him speak even once so far this year… and it's been two whole months since school started. It's like Helen Keller and Stephen Hawking attempting to hold down a conversation. Brick. Fucking. Wall….

"A little distracted back there, Ms. White?" my intense zoning out has been completely interrupted by Mr. Fields who apparently has quiet abruptly ended his rant on AP bio and has now decided to focus his attention on me.

Wonderful.

"I…um"

Roughly thirty pairs of eyes have unashamedly focused on me, which is really not so great a feeling. What's even more of a not so great feeling is that I can literally feel myself turning a very unflattering shade of red... which, considering my coloring, is painfully obvious.

" Ms. White, if my class is boring you, I am not afraid to –"

"No, sir, I'm not bored." I say, cutting him off before he can threaten to send me to Mr. Tanner's office or, worse, assign me another paper as punishment. "And I wasn't distracted. Honestly."

I am so going to hell for the frightening amount of lies I've told in the space of the last fifteen minutes.

Mr. Feilds gives me a total "Yeah, right." look before suddenly barking out, "And Mr. O' Conner the last time I checked, my class was a place of learning, not a place for you to catch up on your sleep cycle."

There are titters of laughter as a startled Garnet lifts his head from his desk, looking just a little dazed. You know, for a reputedly smart kid, you would think he would know better than to fall asleep in class. Seriously.

"Sorry, sir." I just barely hear him automatically mumble while he begins rubbing his face with his hand.

To tell you the truth, I almost feel sorry for him. It's really kind of hard not to. I mean, the guy's got no friends, he's a borderline mute and he's not exactly the best looking guy ever…though I guess if he stopped wearing dark colors and baggy hoodies all the time he could potentially look half decent. And maybe if he fixed his hair…

The lunch bell rings, startling me to the point that I nearly fall off my lab stool. It's almost like a slap in the face for staring at – of all people – Garnet O'Conner. I mean, ew. Rolling my eyes at myself, I hurriedly gather up my bag and my books while Mr. Fields puts in his last two cents. "Remember I still expect to see five pages typed and double spaced on the medically classified disease of your choice on my desk tomorrow by 3:30pm. And for God's sake, people, if I see even one single line that looks like it could've potentially been copied off a Wikipedia page I can guarantee you will be given an automatic zero."

Well. Any hope I had of completing this assignment has just been completely shot to hell. Seriously, what is it with teachers and being such wiki Nazis? Yes, I know anyone can put anything on wiki (including theories that the Titanic was sunk by aliens – I shit you not) but still. Can't I at least paraphrase? Geez.

Sighing heavily, I stand up and head for the door and out into the packed hall way with everyone else.


	2. Chapter 2

"How many calories do you think a cucumber has?" Maris asks me some twenty minutes later as we stand together in the caf line.

"I dunno two, maybe?" I offer, trying not to let my boredom show as I watch her stare intently at the salad bar beside the cash.

"Okaaaaaaaaay…what about in a cherry tomato?"

"Um….dunno."

"What about in one of those weird celery and peanut butter stick things?"

"Beats me."

"Emma!" Maris snaps, suddenly turning on me, "How the hell am I supposed to lose five pounds if I don't know how many calories I could potentially be consuming?"

I try not to role my eyes at her. I really am trying to be a good friend – you know, by not killing Maris and everything – but this whole diet fetish thing she's got going on right now is really starting to get to me. I mean, Maris doesn't even need to diet and no, I am not just saying that because I'm her best friend. Maris - beautiful Maris, with the long naturally blonde hair, the C38 rack, the big Angelina Jolie lips, the thing for dudes on under-the-counter steroids - is as skinny as a stick, if not more so. I mean, if anyone here should be dieting it should be me but the thing is I kind of like food a bit too much for my own good.

"Maris, why do you think you need to lose weight? You're already thin enough as it is."

Maris flips her perfectly flat ironed hair over her shoulder and I get a strong whiff of her leave in conditioner. "Because if I want to make it as a flyer I need to be tiny with a capital T. Nobody wants to have to toss a fat wobbly cow in the air do they? I mean, Chaz was just saying the other day that only the skinniest girls get picked to be flyers - so of course I naturally thought that if I - "

In case you don't know, which, I'm assuming you don't, Chaz is Maris' on –again –off again boyfriend. More off than on but still. To say their relationship is a rocky one is a bit of an understatement – in fact that's actually putting it nicely. Fucked up is more like it. Seriously, there is so much drama between the two of them I'm surprised MTV hasn't come by and made a reality T.V. show out of it yet. I mean, you got the gorgeous size zero stereotypical blonde cheerleader and then the massive narsistic hot jock with the mentality of a steroid infused Teletubby. What's not to love?

"Maris, you're hardly a fat wobbly cow." I mutter, reaching for a raspberry cheesecake cookie at the cookie display. Only before I can put in on the trey next to my large fry, Maris slaps my hand and I drop the cookie on the floor.

"Maris!"

"Do you have any idea how many calories are in that? Do you? Just looking at it could give you type two diabetes. Not to mention you should never eat carbs so late in the day…"

I turn and give Maris quite possibly my dirtiest look which, okay, isn't all that dirty – more like two parts constipated and one part dirty.

"Maris, I'm already having the shittiest day. At least let me have a cookie." I snap, going to grab another one. "It's already bad enough that I failed my bio test - I don't need you to be my designated calorie counter as well –"

"You failed your bio test?" Maris gasps. Hallelujah, it's a miracle - I've somehow made her shut up about calories and carbs. "But you studied."

"Yeah, no, not really, no. I mean, I tried but you know how these things are. Life got in the way, the Simpsons were on, I was busy, blah, blah, blah…and so I ended up failing. Epically."

Maris gives me one of her "Oh, honey," sympathetic looks. I hate that look. It's like I've suddenly been rendered mentally retarded or something.

"So when you say epically I'm going to assume you mean…?"

"%30." I wince. "Only two people passed out of the whole class which, I know, should make me feel better but, shockingly, it doesn't"."

"30%? Are you shitting me?" she practically chokes.

"Unfortunately no. I don't, uh, shit about these things."

"Oh my God. That is beyond failing, Em; that's, like, a total desperate cry for help."

"I know, right?" I groan, "And it just keeps getting better 'cause now my dad's going to take away the keys to the Civic as punishment for failing."

"Whoa, whoa. Wait a second." Maris says, raising a perfectly manicured hand at me "I swear I thought I just heard you say something about your dad taking away the keys to your car for failing. Isn't that, like, grounding?"

"Yep."

"But your parents never ground you. Ever."

I shrug, "Yeah, but I found out that my dad started reading some parenting book about punishing versus rewarding your child. I think him and Mom are getting desperate now that it's only two months into senior year and I've pretty much bombed every single test I've had so far."

I sneak a sideways glance at Maris whose mouth is hanging wide open in what can only be described as a very unattractive way. She starts shaking her head.

"Em, there is no way you can fail anymore tests or assignments. You know you could, like, totally get kicked off the squad for that." Only Maris is somehow able to make it sound like getting kicked off the cheer squad for poor grades is the equivalent of being permanently exiled to social Siberia for all eternity and beyond. Which in a way it is, I guess. What can I say? My high school career is turning into a John Hughs movie.

I shrug. "Wouldn't be the end of the world."

I can tell Maris is about to come out with a real zinger to that one but is stopped dead when she sees Chaz walking across the caf towards us. Immediately, her long fingers go to her head and she begins anxiously running them through her long hair, something she always does when she's nervous.

"Oh shit, he's coming over here isn't he?" she says, lowering her voice into a ridiculous whisper. I mean, really, who bothers whispering in a loud cafeteria full of boisterous post pubescent teenagers? "Do I look okay? My mascara is good, right?"

I give Maris an awkward smile and an even more awkward thumbs up. I've never really been into that whole "ohmigod he's coming over do I, like, totally look worthy of him or what?" routine. But despite the smile and the thumbs up Maris continues to squirm, nervously smoothing down her too tight t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey babe," Chaz says, sauntering up to us, cool as a cucumber. Okay, so I wasn't exactly expecting the guy to begin reciting Robert Frost or anything but c'mon. "Hey babe" just doesn't cut it for me; though as always, it does the trick for Maris.

"Oh heyyy." She says, going in for one of those delicate girly hugs that girls always seem to give guys. As Chaz hugs her back I can't help but notice how huge he is. Her tiny frame only makes his hugeness even more disturbingly noticeable. It's like a grizzly bear hugging a Chihuahua- not that I know what that would look like or anything.

By the time they've finished hugging, Chaz still has yet to acknowledge my presence but judging from the way he's suddenly launched into inviting Maris to his next game, it doesn't seem like he's going to anytime soon. Acknowledge me I mean.

"…So of course we're going to kick ass…you're gonna be there right, babe?" Chaz asks batting his gorgeous blue eyes at Maris. She responds with a perfectly executed hair toss while saying "Me and Emma are supposed to cheer that night so of course I'll be there."

"Sick. You know you're pretty much my lucky charm, right? I can't play without you." He says, draping a huge arm around her. She nuzzles against him and, Oh dear God, I actually think I'm going to throw up.

"I seriously can't wait." Maris practically purrs. "Hopefully Mrs. K will make me a flyer by then. I've been practicing like crazy and all I've had today was a diet coke. I've already lost three pounds since last Friday."

"That's awesome, babe" Chazz replies, "But I thought you wanted to lose ten pounds? You know flyers pride themselves in being super ti –" he begins but is suddenly cut off by the faint tell-tale sound of a cell phone vibrating. In one fluid motion he undrapes his arm from around Maris' skinny shoulders and slides his cell out of his pocket. I notice Maris' face fall as Chazz flips open his phone and starts to text, completely ignoring her.

"Who are you texting?" she demands in a voice I've rarely ever heard her use. It's one part bitchy, one part accusatory and one part painfully insecure.

"Huh? Oh nobody, just Chase. I gotta go but I'll catch you later, kay, babe?" he says and before Maris can reply he gives her a quick peck on the cheek and is already striding towards the back doors of the caf and heading outside into the school's courtyard.

"Well that was random." I say attempting to be cheerful but failing miserably. This is how it always is with Chaz and Maris. One minute he's the one going out of his way to find her and everything is great and then the next he gets a text from one of his dude friends and - poof! - he's gone. I don't know if it's because he's just too stupid to prioritize Maris over his friends or vice versa or if he just simply doesn't give a crap. It's hard to tell with that boy.

"I guess." Maris says, looking totally put out. I shrug in an attempt to make it seem like it's not that big deal, "C'mon." I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the cash. "Let's just eat, okay? And what the hell did you mean when you said you've only had a diet coke today?" But Maris just shakes her head, ignoring my question. Instead, she's completely silent for a good twenty seconds before finally saying, "Look, I'm not feeling so good so I think I'll just go outside and get some fresh air. You pay for that and I'll meet you in the courtyard in a bit, kay?"

While a part of me wants to slap Maris across the face, stuff my cookie in her mouth and give her a hug all at the same time, another part of me thinks I should just let her be. I mean, I should be used to it by now; she tends to get like this right after Chaz randomly blows her off or chooses to go hang out with one of his guy friends over her. Personally, I wouldn't think it would really be that big a deal except for he has gotten into the annoying habit of doing it all the time.

"Okay, fine, I guess." I say, giving her a little smile so she knows I'm not mad at her or anything for wanting some space. But she doesn't smile back. Instead she gives a little shrug before turning on her heel and heading outside the caf and into the courtyard. I'm left all alone at the salad bar.


	3. Chapter 3

I end up eating my large fry and cookie alone at a corner table in the caf. Sarah Jergins, one of my fellow cheerleaders on the squad, is nice enough to invite me to sit with her and some of her jock friends but honestly, I'm not really in the mood for talking. I mean, what am I supposed to say? "So…I failed my bio test this morning, was humiliated by Mr. Fields for not paying attention, and then I got ditched by my calorie obsessed best friend because her on-again-off-again boyfriend can't get his shit together… So how's your day going?" I'm not exactly little Miss Sunshine right now.

Instead, I sit and eat in silence while playing Brick Breaker on my phone - which isn't such a bad thing really. I know tons of people who hate doing things by themselves – they always feel like they need to be surrounded by other people. It's kind of nice to not have to talk to anyone for once.

After I finish eating, beat my personal best at Brick Breaker, and figure I've given Maris enough time to sulk, I decide to head outside and look for her. Normally on a day like this –one of those rare warm October afternoons that don't happen very often here in Jefferson middle-of-nowhere, PA – the courtyard would be teeming with teenagers. But today, all I see as I step through the back doors of the caf and out into the large sun filled brick courtyard are thirty or so teenagers forming a tightly knit circle in the far corner of the yard. It's a no brainer; clearly a fights about to go down or is going down. Either that, or a kid just puked – though judging from the shouting that's going on I'm willing to bet it's a fight.

To be completely honest here, all I really care about right now is finding Maris. And knowing her, she's probably somewhere in that crowd. Maris is attracted to drama like a horny moth is attracted to a flame. I like to think I'm the complete opposite seeing as I hold the personal belief that if you've seen one fight you've pretty much seen 'em all, especially when it concerns the brawls that have become almost regular fixtures at weekend keg parties. One guy gets pissed and goads another guy into being pissed over (more times than not) literally nothing and then it's just a total shit storm of flying fists and cheap shots after that. It's all kind of yawn worthy.

Alright. It's officially Operation Find Maris In The Middle Of Your Classic School Yard Fight time. I make my way across the courtyard and take a deep breath before I begin parting the crowd like I'm mother flippin' Moses. I mean seriously, I am like a five star general, Commander Kick Ass. There are a few choice curses flung in my direction but I honestly don't care; I'm far too busy hurtling myself through the crowd, a woman on a mission. I am half way through thinking that I should seriously be considered as Tom Cruise's stand in in his next Mission Impossible movie when I hear a very pissed off sounding Maris scream, "Stop it, Chaz, this is fucking retarded!"

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

As I break through the mass and into the edge of the middle of the circle, the first thing I see is Chaz standing directly in the center of the small clearing. He looks scary as fuck, as if he's about to go all Charlie Sheen on someone. Maris is right behind him screaming hysterically. As much as I love Maris, I have to admit she looks suspiciously like one of those crazy chicks you'd find on The Real World or something; her face is bright red from shouting and her usually perfect hair looks like it was ravaged by a rabid hamster. Question: how is it that I leave the girl alone for a grand total of twenty minutes, and in that short time she is somehow able to get herself involved in the middle of such a chaotic mess while simultaneously making herself look like a mental hospital escapee? I repeat; Twenty frickin minutes. I honestly don't know how she does it.

The only other person in the middle of the circle, besides Chazz and Maris, is a very confused looking junior with a shock of red hair who looks like he weighs about a hundred pounds - soaking wet.

"Who gave you the balls to look at my girl? Huh? Who?" Chaz is demanding, practically foaming at the mouth. He's strutting back and forth and puffing out his chest in a way that would probably be totally hilarious except - considering the current circumstances - it's really not. I make a mental note to have a good laugh about it later; you know, after he's done threatening to beat the snot out of some junior.

The kid in question looks downright petrified and I know just from taking one look at his face he never even so much as glanced at Maris.

For all of you out there who have a designated Chazz at your school, you probably would have guessed by now what's going on here. While I'm sure some fancy pants overly paid physiologist and a few of her sock puppet sidekicks could come up with a perfectly logical reason as to why Chazz likes to randomly pick on those who are much, much weaker than him, my personal theory is that our friend Chazz here gets a bit of a kick out of making some poor kids life miserable simply 'cause he can. Well, that, and I secretly think the illegal steroids his drug dealer is feeding him are starting to have some kind of crazy hold over him and are slowly turning him into a sadistic serial killer. I haven't quiet worked that last theory out but I'll get back to you when I do.

"Answer me!" Chaz is practically roaring now, "Who gave you the balls to look at my girl?"

"I d-don't know what you're talking about." The kid finally stammers out, "I never even l-looked at h-her."

"You are so full of shit." Chaz snarls, "I swear to God, I am going to kick your ginger ass so hard –" He takes a single giant stride towards the junior just as Maris starts screaming hysterically "Chaz, stop it for Christ's sake!"

I don't know what I'm waiting for to happen first; Chaz to take a swing at the junior, the junior to pee his pants, or a teacher to mercifully step in. It feels like this whole thing is playing out like a really bad "What Will Happen Next?" video. Only I don't think any one of us in the crowd could in a million years have predicted what actually happens next.

To the right of me I hear a quiet voice say, "Come on, Chaz, leave the kid alone." I'm half expecting to turn and see a teacher standing there but no. Instead, I see a mess of brown hair and a tall, slightly lanky, frame - Garnet O'Conner.

But Chaz obviously doesn't hear him. I'm about to turn to Garnet and tell him not to bother, that it's no use trying to act the hero here; but he says, louder now, "Chaz, leave him alone."

It's obvious that Chaz hears him this time because, in one smooth motion, he turns his back to the junior and has now turned to face the direction in which Garnets voice had come.

Oh boy, here we go...

"What the fuck did you just say?" he asks, eyes narrowing in on Garnet accusingly.

"I said, leave him alone, Chaz." Garnet repeats slowly, carefully, like Chaz has a very obvious learning disability. It's only now that I notice the slight waver in his voice; he's obviously terrified but is trying desperately to not let it show. But terrified or not, he takes a step forward from out of the protection and security of the crowd and into the open – stopping only a foot or so away from Chaz. Somewhere off in the distance the warning bell goes off, signaling that lunch is officially over and we have exactly ten minutes to gather our stuff and head to fourth period. But nobody moves an inch.

A sudden smile breaks out across Chazz's gorgeous face that doesn't quiet reach his eyes. There is absolutely zero humor in it but at least he's quit the whole in-your-face macho posturing and strutting act, thank God.

"You're fucking with me, right, O'Conner? You've gotta be fucking with me." He smirks. Garnet gives a little shrug as if to say, "Not, not really, no." The smile disappears.

"Whatever, O'Conner." He says dismissively like Garnet is hardly a force to consider reckoning with before turning back to face the junior. The poor bastard is still standing there, completely frozen in fear. Somebody should've told him to make a run for it while he had the chance.

"Stop being a dick and leave the kid alone, Charles." Garnet says a little too loudly and I know that as soon the words are out of his mouth, he's probably already regretting them.

There is a resounding "Ooooooooh!" from the crowd and Chaz whips around, jaw clenched, muscles bunched in anger. "What the fuck did you just call me?" He snaps, balling his fists. Before Garnet can even so much as think of a reply, Chazz is all over him.

I'd be lying if I told you I that I don't hear the sickening sound Chazz's fist makes when it connects with the left side of Garnets face or the solid thud that Garnet's body makes when he hits the ground from the sudden violent impact. The next thing I know, Chazz is pulling back his leg and roundhouse kicking Garnet, still lying crumpled on the ground, directly in the ribs.

By now, the small crowd -including Maris- has gone deathly quiet and all that can be heard is Garnet's ragged breathing and Chazz furiously egging him on.

"Come on, O' Conner. Get up. Get the fuck up, for Christ's sake."

Sure enough, a dazed Garnet attempts to get up only to be given yet a roundhouse kick to the chest. There's a deafening thud as he falls back again, just about slamming the back of his head on the pavement, the wind completely knocked out of him. And just like that, almost as quickly as it had begun, it's all over. Chaz spits on the pavement and growls "Fuck this, I'm out of here," as if it's just that easy to completely walk away from beating the shit out of some kid. "Come on, Brent, let's go." He says, ignoring Maris who's looking at him with an expression that can only be described as somewhere between horror and awe. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Brent Foley bound out of the crowd like a sickeningly over eager puppy and follow Chaz through the now slowly dispersing throng and towards the school. Maris must not see me because the next thing I know, I hear her shout, "Chazz! Chazz!" while half speed walking, half jogging to catch up with him and Brent, her large faux leather bag banging erratically against her leg.

Nobody even bothers to give the still unmoving Garnet O' Connor a second glance for fear of being even more late for fourth period than they already are. I'm not proud to say I'm one of them.

Chapter Three

I make it to English class with exactly four and a half seconds to spare before the final bell goes off. Garnet isn't there, nor would I expect him to be. As I take my assigned seat at the back of the classroom I begin to feel my stomach clench and cramp up with guilt. Okay, okay, I know what you're thinking. Yes, I should've done the right thing and checked to see if he was okay and everything but come on. How awkward would that have been? "Hi, my name's Emma but you probably already know that since we've been going to the same schools since kindergarten and everything and even though we've never talked before and you're kind of a loser, I just wanted to break the thirteen year silence by asking; did my best friend's on-again-off-again boyfriend give you brain damage? Just out of curiosity." Yeah, no, that's not gonna cut it. Sorry.

I try to distract myself for the first ten minutes of class by trying really hard to listen to what Ms. Brooks is saying about last night's homework on plot devices; anything to make myself forget about the guilt gnawing away at me. Seriously, I doubt anyone else in that crowd who witnessed Chaz's epic ass kickery feel as guilty as I do now. Why is that, anyway? I've seen Chaz beat tons of kids up and not once did I feel like a complete worm afterwards…

Stop it, I tell myself firmly, Listen to what Ms. Brooks is saying…just stop thinking and listen. Okay. Listening. I can do that….

" – Of course, in melodrama there is no chance of good winning over evil or vice versa. Characters usually fit into "Types"…much like stereotypes…" Ms. Brooks drones in her nasal voice as she reads off the overhead in front of her. She's only twenty five - just barely out of teachers college - and already she looks borderline suicidal when performing her job. "Originating as a light opera in the 1700's, melodrama gradually became –"

Ms. Brooks is cut off by the sound of the door opening and who should walk in but Garnet O'Conner looking like he just went to hell and back. Seriously. He looks awful.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. O'Conner." Ms. Brooks says without so much as glancing away from the overhead.

He doesn't say anything; just shrugs and I swear I catch him wince at the movement. The room is dead silent as he makes his way to the back of the room, dumps his books on his desk, and sits heavily in the seat beside mine. Ms. Brooks takes this as her cue to continue. "In comparison to drama, melodrama shows us life as we wish to see it, not as it actually appears. However, both melodrama and drama are both complete opposites of the fourth element commonly known as farce -"

Pretending to be completely enraptured in Ms. Brooks seemingly never ending monologue, I sneak a sideways glance at Garnet who's sitting in a way that looks like he could quiet possibly keel over and die at any given moment. The left side of his face is already starting to bruise and swell where Chazz's fist made contact and he's cradling his head in a way that is a dead giveaway as to how much pain he's in.

I know I should say something. Anything; anything to make this stupid guilty feeling I've got deep in the pit of my stomach go away. I need to open my mouth…

"Are you okay?"

He turns to me and for a second I swear he's gonna ask me something like "Who, me? You're talking to me?" But he doesn't. Just gives me a totally sarcastic "What do you think?" look. Then finally he says. "Yeah, I'm okay." Before I can stop myself, I whisper back, "You didn't have to do that, you know. Stand up for that junior like that."

Well, it's true. He really didn't.

"Yeah. I know." He says simply, his face completely devoid of emotion. And then he shuts up.

Wow. Brilliant conversation this is. I mean, seriously. The one time I go out of my way to be nice to a loser and this is what I get. Nothing. Then again, maybe, I dunno, maybe he's concust or something and that's why he's not very talkative. After all, he did hit that pavement pretty hard. He could have a really awful concussion and not even know it.

"What's your name?" I ask, because isn't that always the question you ask when people could potentially be concust? You know you've definitely got a concussion when you can't even remember your own name.

He frowns. "What?"

"What's your name?" I repeat, quickly glancing at Ms. Brooks. The woman is still in her own little world of plot devices, completely oblivious to me and Garnet in the back.

"You seriously don't know my name?" he asks, following my gaze towards Ms. Brooks. When his green eyes flicker back to mine I can see the obvious confusion in them. "We've been going to the same schools since kindergarten and you still don't know my name?"

He's giving me a look that says he thinks I am a little more than a moron but a whole lot less than a genius.

"Well, yeah, of course I know you're name," I say, trying not to let impatience creep into my voice. I mean, really, how dumb does he think I am? "I'm just checking to make sure that you know your name."

"Okaaaaay…." He says slowly, giving me a funny look, "Why wouldn't I know my name?"

"I dunno…you could have a concussion," I say trying to sound as matter of fact as possible. "You did hit that pavement pretty hard."

He ignores that last comment completely and says, totally straight faced, "Garnet. Happy?"

I nod, thinking that he'll probably drop it now. Only he says, "But you know my name, right?"

This time, I do roll my eyes. "Well, duh." To my surprise, one corner of his mouth lifts and although I'm sure that little movement is probably hurting him like a total bitch… he's actually smiling.

"What?" I ask, beginning to feel embarrassed. But he just turns back in his seat to face the front of the room again. Only I swear to God I hear him say, "Interesting."

And just like that, that's the end to my very first official conversation with Garnet O'Conner.

By the end of the day, everyone at school has heard about the fight at lunch. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. You can't even walk down the halls without hearing someone say, "Did you hear that Chazz Hal kicked Garnet O' Conner's ass at lunch?". I am not even kidding you.

Even as I walk across the school's blustery parking lot and towards my car ten minutes after the final bell rings, I overhear Dean Brandon loudly recounting the fight to Eddie Samuels; except the story had changed somewhat from the original version - "-So then Garnet called Chaz a pussy an' Chaz shoved him down the third floor stair well before stabbing him with a pen in the aorta –"

It worries me how information circulates at this school.

I just reach my silver Honda Civic when I hear Maris shout from behind me, "Emma! Hey, Emma!" and I turn just in time to see her manically racing towards me. Her hair isn't a mess anymore and she looks like normal, perfectly put together Maris. Any trace of that crazy Real World chick from lunch has completely vanished.

"What's up, Maris?" I ask. I unlock the driver's side door and dump in my purse and books.

"Did you see the fight today?" she demands breathlessly, pushing a strand of long strawberry blonde hair away from her face. "Chaz totally kicked that Garnet O' Conner's ass at lunch. I mean, you should've seen it. It was, like, so – "

"I did see it, actually." I say cutting her off sharply, suddenly feeling annoyed. I'm really beginning to get sick of hearing about the stupid fight.

"Oh really?" she frowns, "I didn't see you there. You know the whole thing started 'cause Chaz thought that junior was checking me out, right? Which, okay, is ridiculous, but don't you think that's kind of a good thing that Chaz gets jealous? Like, he wouldn't get jealous if he didn't care about me, right?" she blurts out in one breathe. I almost don't believe what I'm hearing. Forget about the fact that Chaz nearly murdered Garnet today; all Maris cares about is whether or not Chaz is really into her. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Maris has never really been the one to notice an elephant when it's in the room.

I shrug, suddenly too tired to even bother trying to explain to her that not everything revolves around Chaz and his feelings (or lack of) for her.

"Yeah, Maris, it's a good thing that he gets jealous." I lie through my teeth.

I know, I know; I should be a good, honest friend and tell her that Chaz is bad news bears and she should probably stay away from him and his mind fucking ways. But the thing is, I've tried that before. My God, how I've tried. But the girl flat out refuses to listen to me. That's why now, whenever she starts obsessing over Chaz, I just shut my mouth and smile and nod while she vents and rants. I swear the girl gets a secrete kick out of obsessing over the ass hole.

"You think?" she asks, cocking her head to the side. It's only now that she notices I have my car door wide open and I'm patiently waiting for her to wrap things up here so I can get in and start heading for home. "You're going home?" she asks arching her overly tweezed eyebrows at me in surprise, "But its Wednesday. We have cheer practice tonight, remember?"

I do remember. I was just hoping she wouldn't.

"You know, I'm actually not feeling that well. I think I might be coming down with something." I say and throw in a pathetic sounding cough. I don't really feel like telling Maris that the reason I'm avoiding practice tonight is because I'm not in the mood to listen to a whole squad of girls gush about how hot Chaz looked today when he beat the crap out of Garnet. Well, that, and tonight's spaghetti and meatball night and if there's something I flat out refuse to do, its miss Dad's famous spaghetti and meatball night. Seriously. It is literally to die for.

"Are you sure?" Maris asks, narrowing her kohl rimmed eyes at me. "You know this is, like, the fourth practice you've missed this month."

"I know and I am sorry, Maris. But I'll make the next one, I promise. I just really don't want to make the other girls sick in case I'm actually coming down with something serious." I say and give another cough. While it may not be my most Oscar worthy performance, it seems to do the trick because Maris' face softens a little and she says, "Okay, whatever. Just remember you promised you'll be at the next practice. I really want to impress Chaz and the team at the next game."

"We will," I say and force a smile. I give her a quick hug and climb into my car. She waves at me when I put my car into reverse and head out of the parking lot for home.

Ten minutes later, I'm bumping along Howe Road, dirt and mud spraying beneath the car's tires. I'm driving really fast, probably a hell of a lot faster than I should but I don't care. Partly because I'm so caught up in singing along to Dierks Bentley's "What Was I Thinkin'" that's currently blaring from the stereo –yeah, I'm cool like that - and party because I just want to get as far away from school as I can, as fast as I can. Away from books and classes and pointless schoolyard fights and shitty test results.

By the time I pull off the main road and into our well maintained pasture and fence lined lane way, the sun is already beginning to set, despite the dashboard clock flashing quarter to four. The cows to the left of the laneway don't even bother to look up from their cud as I noisily drive by. As I near the end of the drive, I notice that there's a gleaming red F250 truck – affectionately known as Dad's "midlife crisis truck" - parked outside our traditional white clapboard farmhouse.

I carefully park beside Dad's monster of a truck, cut the engine, and grab my purse and books from the passenger seat. I jump out and begin making my way past the weathered old red and white barn and across the newly mown lawn towards the house. I reach the covered front porch and pry open the screened door; it creaks ominously on its rusted hinges. Dad's been promising to fix it for years, just like he's been promising to get new shingles for the barn and build Skeeter - our obese border collie cross - a new dog house. Dad's good at making promises he can't keep – especially when it comes to home maintenance, despite Mom's constant nagging and never ending To Do lists.

Once inside, I dump my books and purse on the mud room floor and kick off my ballet flats. Hearing the door open, Skeeter lazily waddles out of the den and into the front hall to greet me. Skeeter's so over weight he has to waddle everywhere. He can't be bothered to run like most dogs.

I ignore Skeeter who's started sniffing my hands, hopeful for a treat; you know, 'cause apparently he can't simply be happy to see me. There always has to be food involved. Disappointed that I'm empty handed, he turns around and sulkily waddles back into the den.

"Em?" Dad hollers loudly from the kitchen over the sound of the radio playing 92.5 XTO – Jefferson valley's country music station.

I don't even bother answering; just walk straight into the newly renovated kitchen off the hall.

Dad and my little brother Lenny are sitting at the ink, hair dye, and nail polish stained kitchen table beside the black wood stove Mom insisted we install because "wouldn't it just make the room so cozy?". Mom's really into the whole primitive/old fashioned New England farm house decorative movement. Our house is so full of mail order antiques and Country Sampler magazine knick knack's you'd swear an Amish family was living in our house part time or something.

Dad appears to be helping Lenny with his homework, if the dozen textbooks and papers strewn across the table are anything to go by.

"Hey, buddy, how were the salt mines?" Dad asks, not even bothering to look up from the textbook he seems to be so deeply engrossed in as I enter the kitchen. Dad always refers to school as "the salt mines"; as if every day I'm forced to endure dangerous physical labor instead of, well, high school. It's just one of many of Dad's little quirks.

"Oh, you know…salty." I say opening the fridge and stuffing my head inside, suddenly starving. "You know how it is. So where's Mom?"

"In the basement doing that Pilates DVD you gave her for Christmas last year. She decided she'd finally get around to trying it out."

"About time," I mutter under my breathe, shoving a container of soy based yogurt aside.

"So," Dad says, clearing his throat, "Anything new and exciting happen today?"

I close the fridge empty handed and turn to Dad, my temporarily forgotten bio test immediately springing to mind.

"Nope, not really, no..."

"I got an A plus on my math test today." Lenny suddenly pipes up from beside Dad. Ten years old and the kid still thinks he can best me when it comes to getting Dad's attention. "I got all the addition questions right, even the bonus ones."

"That's great, Len," Dad says, turning to him and smiling, "But everyone uses calculators these days." Seeing Lenny's face fall he leans over and ruffles his mop of blonde hair while saying, "Just kidding. Only losers use calculators, right, Em?" He looks at me expectantly.

"Yep." I say a little too brightly. I know I'm going to have to tell Dad about the bio test but how…

"Hey, speaking of tests, did you get your bio test results back yet, bud?"

Really, God? Really?

"Uh, yeah," I say, nervously beginning to tap my foot against the floor. "You see, Dad, the thing is –"

"Let me guess," he says, raising a hand for silence, "You failed, didn't you?"

"Geez, Dad, way to have a little faith."

"It's got nothing to do with faith, Em. I just had to take one look at your face when I first mentioned the word "test" and knew that you'd failed."

Dear God, am I really that easy to read? Remind me in the future to never, ever attempt to play poker.

"Oh." I say quietly, turning my gaze down to the floor.

"You know the deal we had, Emma. No passing grade, no car. Now hand over the keys, please."

I seriously consider making a bad "ha, ha that rhymed" joke, really anything to get Dad to lighten up a bit. I mean, he can't be serious. He's never, ever grounded me before. Ever.

"Oh, come on, Dad!" I burst out, suddenly beginning to panic. "I need my car. I mean, how am I supposed to get to school and back every day?"

"You can walk; like you did before you got your license, remember?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No, buts, Em, – " Dad says, beginning to rub his bald head with a massive tanned hand, "We had a deal. You failed your test so now it's time to grow up, take responsibility and deal with the consequences like a real adult."

As if Dad just said that. I'm willing to bet he totally quoted that, word for word, from a parenting book or Dr. Phil.

"But Dad," I try again, "What if I have to go on a field trip or something? How am I supposed to get there without my car?"

Dad looks at me like I'm missing something very, very obvious. "I don't know - take the bus with the rest of your classmates?"

I stomp my foot, which okay, is a total five year old kid type thing to do, but still. I know I've lost but I can't help but give a final "You can't be serious, Dad."

"Em, do you think you could make things easy on your old man for once and maybe – just maybe- hand over the keys without the angst?" He asks, sighing heavily "Listen, you know I don't like to punish you anymore than you like being punished but this whole failing test after test thing has got to stop, kiddo. And if that means that I have to take away your privilege to drive in order to get that through your head, then by all means, that's what's going to happen. Just try to see this from my perspective, okay?"

Isn't in so unfair when parents make a reasonable argument that you know you have zero chance of ever winning?

"Okay, fine." I reluctantly reach into my pocket and pull out my keys, "But I'm only letting you do this because if this works, then you can use the same punishment on Lenny when he gets his license."

I drop my keys on the table in front of Dad and he scoops them up, looking almost relieved. "Fair enough." He says before turning to Lenny; "And that, my son, is how you deal with a teenage girl."

I roll my eyes. "Look, Dad, just because I –", But I am cut off by the sound of Mom noisily bursting into the kitchen. She's wearing black leggings (wait a minute, aren't those mine?) paired with her ancient bleach stained Brown University t-shirt. Her long grey-blonde hair is scrunched up into a messy knot on the top of her head and her face is a deep crimson shade of red and totally makeup free.

"Oh, I didn't know you were home already, Emma." She says, panting slightly. "How was school?"

"Emma failed her biology test!" Lenny blurts out before I can say anything.

"Lenny," Dad says sternly. He turns to Mom and says. "Yes, Emma did fail her biology test, but don't worry, Marguerite, I already handled it. I took her car keys away." He says, dangling them in the air almost proudly.

"Oh," Mom says. She looks impressed. "Just like the book said to."

Only in my family, I swear.

"Emma, did you even bother studying for this test?" Mom asks. I can hear the obvious disappointment in her voice.

"Kind of, sort of, not really….no..." I reluctantly admit. "But this is the last test I'm going to fail, I swear."

Mom and Dad exchange glances and I suddenly get the feeling like I'm missing something here.

"What?"

"Look, sweetie," Mom says, leaning against the granite countertop beside the stove. "Just to be clear here, you're not doing this because of a…uh…a boy, are you?"

Wait, what?

"It's just that you're father and I are a little concerned about you. You're a very smart girl, Emma, and this test failing business just isn't like you. I know at your age having a boyfriend may seem like the most important thing in the world and that you might be tempted to "dumb yourself down" because it may sometimes seem like boys don't like smart girls but..."

Oh my God, shoot me. Somebody please, please shoot me.

"Mom, I'm not trying to pretend to be dumb for a guy!"

"Look, honey," Mom says carefully, putting on her best I-Was-A-Teenager-Once-Too voice. "I'm only saying this because I know you haven't had a boyfriend in a while - at least not since that boy who turned out to be a homosexual – and I can't even tell you the amount of friends I had when I was in high school who felt pressured to –"

"Mom, I thought we came to the agreement a long time ago that we'd never mention Jordan again." I snap. Yes, okay, I'll admit it. I dated a guy very briefly last summer that I met at a kids camp I was volunteering at who ended up turning out to be a little incredibly gay. He broke up with me at the end of the summer for the president of the Glee club. I shit you not.

"So what if the guy was gay?" Dad says raising his hands in the air almost defensively, "No judgment, all God's children, everybody does it, no big deal. It's okay, Em. But can you see what we're trying to get at here?"

"Yes, Dad." I say, thoroughly exasperated," No more failing. I get it. Now can we please, please for the love of God, put this conversation to bed already?"

There's an awkward moment of silence before Lenny, ever the kiss-ass, pipes up with, "Mom, I got an A plus on my math test today!"

"That's good, honey", she says, giving him a smile while reaching into the fridge and taking out a bottle of water, "but everybody uses calculators now…by the way, John, did the vet come by yet to check out Kenworth's colic yet?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Ms. Brooks stands at the chalkboard at the front of the class, droning on about God-knows-what. I wouldn't know what exactly seeing as I'm a little too busy staring down at my phone in my lap – particularly at the text message Maris sent me five seconds ago; Hey, sorry if it's kinda last minute but I think we should have another cheer practice after school tonight. I asked Ms. K and she said it was cool. You promised. Xoxo.

Shit, shit, shit. Why is it that the girl can never remember the locker combination she's had for nearly four years straight but she can somehow remember a stupid little promise I made to her yesterday?

I try not to groan aloud. I mean, it's not that I hate cheer leading or anything…it's just…okay, I hate cheer leading. There, I've said it.

I legit honest-to-God have no idea how I even managed to make the squad in the first place. I'm uncoordinated, I have a fear of heights and I suck at following a routine. Sad but true. I'm such a huge epic fail of a cheer leader that there were rumors circulating around school last year that I'd gone so far as to sleep with Coach Payne, the football coach, just so he could persuade Ms. K to let me snare a highly coveted position on the squad (which, for the record, is totally untrue). The only reason why I've stuck with it for so long is because I know if I quit, Maris will have me assassinated. And don't think she won't do it because she will. Cheerleading is her life.

I know I can't send Maris an excuse to get out of the practice tonight. After all, I did promise her that I'd for sure be at the next practice. And it's not like I can fake being sick again either seeing as I spent the entire lunch break sitting with her in the caf listening to her rant about how unhealthy the cafeteria food is.

I am really trying to think of something, anything to get out of it when the sound of the class room door opening causes me to jump. I glance up from my phone to see Garnet closing the door behind him.

"Late again, Mr. O' Conner." Ms. Brooks says, using her bitchiest tone. She puts her hands on her skinny hips and gives him a killer look, "That's the third day in a row now."

"Sorry, Ms. Brooks. It won't happen again." He mumbles towards the ground. He doesn't even look at her as he heads to the back of the classroom and sits down in the seat next to mine. It's only now that I notice – totally without meaning to, I swear - that while the swelling on the side of his face has noticeably gone down since yesterday, there's still the tell-tale shadowing of a very obvious, painful looking bruise. Jesus, Chazz must've hit him harder than I thought. It's also now that I notice the I-pod ear bud cleverly concealed by his hoody. Now why didn't I ever think of that?

"You know the rules, Garnet. Looks like I'll be seeing you at 3:30 for an after school detention this afternoon."

Wow. This guy seriously can't catch a break, can he? I can tell he's thinking the exact same thing because it's written all over his bruised face. Bummer.

Oh, well. At least I'm not the only one stuck doing something shitty this afternoon, I think, sliding my phone open and closed absent mindedly. Now I just gotta think of how the hell I'm going to get out of cheer practice…

"Maris, we better call it quits. It's already lightening over there." I say, pointing towards the darkening sky in the not-too-far-off distance. It's after school and we're standing on the school's football field with the rest of the senior cheer squad – or at least, the few who bothered to show up, that is. I can't help but notice that I'm not the only one looking completely miserable here. Everyone looks like the last thing they want to be doing right now is enduring yet another after school practice session with Maris; especially now that she has turned into something of a cheer Nazi.

"Yeah, and it's starting to thunder a bit." Leanne Terrence adds, coming up beside me and rubbing her hands furiously over her twig-like arms.

Maris shakes her head. "No way. We have got to get this cheer down if we want to impress everyone at the game next week. Besides" she adds, giving a small shrug," a little thunder and lightning never hurt anybody."

Leanne opens her mouth to argue and I shake my head warningly but she ignores me. "FYI, people get struck by lightning all the fucking time, Maris. No offence, but I am not gonna risk getting electrocuted because of some stupid game."

"Yeah, "Sarah Jergens nods in agreement and glances down at her pink Guess watch. "I mean, we've been at this for an hour and a half now. I'm pretty sure we've all got better things to do tonight than practice the crap out of a stupid cheer routine."

There are murmurs of agreement from the squad and Maris' face goes bright red. "It's not stupid." She practically spits. "This is important! If we want the football team to kick North Port High's ass we have to bring it. And if that means we've gotta practice in a storm, then that's what we're gonna do."

I cringe with embarrassment on Maris' behalf.

"Bring It On called; they want their script back." I hear Sarah mutter under her breathe as she flips her long dark brown ponytail over her shoulder.

"Oh buuuuuuuuuurn!" Maris snaps sarcastically, suddenly turning her. "Did you think that one up all by yourself?"

As is on cue, there is another low rumble of thunder from off in the distance and Leanne shoots Maris a pointed look. "Screw this, I'm leaving before it starts raining. My hair is gonna frizz like crazy."

Before Maris can stop her, Leanne is already on the field's sidelines, spasmodically beginning to gather her stuff up. She practically sprints for the change rooms as the first few rain droplets begin to fall.

"Yeah, I'm out of here too." says Sarah, grabbing her gym bag and hefting it over her shoulder. "Later, bitches."

"Sorry, Maris." Emily Rudetski mutters quietly from behind us. "But I think I'm getting a menstrual migraine and all that thunder isn't exactly helping." She goes to join Sarah and Leanne. Sure enough, one by one, the squad begins to slowly disband.

"But-but…" Maris says helplessly. "We need to practice!"

I place a hand on her thin shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

"It's okay, Maris. Besides, it's just a game. It's not like you're gonna win a car or, I don't know, a year's supply of Rice A Roni or anything if we end up nailing that cheer."

She turns and makes a face at me. "I hate Rice A Roni."

"That wasn't my point, Maris. Look, how about we just call it a night, okay? That storm is getting kind of close."

There is another low rumble of thunder and I shiver. "We can practice the cheer another time."

"Whatever." she grumbles, pulling away from me. "Why is it that the one time I really try to impress Chazz it ends up going completely tits up?"

"Tits-up?"

"Yeah, it's British slang. My dad's new girlfriend Brandy is from England and she says it all the time when something shitty happens."

"Oh," I mouth. "Uh, Maris, honey, I don't really think that you should be picking up slang from a woman with an alcoholic beverage inspired name, especially one who – if you're dads questionable taste in women is anything to go by – was most likely a stripper in another life. Just sayin'." I clear my throat awkwardly, "Anyway, I don't think Chazz will care that much if we skip out on one practice."

Maris sighs, suddenly exasperated, "I guess. Listen, I think I'm gonna text Chazz and get him to come pick me up. Want me to see if he could give you a ride home so you don't have to walk in the storm?"

"Yeah, sure." I say. "Thanks."

She walks over to her pink gym bag sitting on the side of the field and takes out her phone.

By the time she fires off the text and we make it across the field to the now-crowded change rooms, it's absolutely pouring, the distant claps of thunder becoming more frequent. Maris opens her locker in the gym's change room and begins changing out of her black yoga pants and tank top and into jeans and a pink Juicy hoodie. She spritzes herself with Chanel no 5 and raises an eyebrow at me. "Aren't you changing?" she asks, indicating towards my grey sweats and blue and red West Jefferson High Cheer Leading Team jacket. I shrug.

"I'm just gonna end up getting wet again anyway so what's the point?"

"That's what she said!" I hear Holly Silverberg shout from somewhere in the background. I roll my eyes. "Thanks, Holly, real mature." I grumble under my breathe. I swear that girl has a raging case of Terrets or something.

Maris opens her mouth, probably to argue about how gross it is that I'm not changing out of my sweaty clothes but she's silenced by the sound of her phone vibrating. As if on autopilot, she reaches into her jeans pocket, pulls out her phone and slides it open in one singular motion. "Chaz is in the front parking lot. Why don't you meet us out front after you change?"

"Maris, I literally just said I don't see the point in changing 'cause –" but she starts shaking her head at me. Her long blonde hair sways back and forth with the motion.

"No offence, Em, but Chazz hates it when his truck smells like sweat and gym socks. How about you change and we'll meet you outside in five?"

I open my mouth to argue but before I can, she's already turned on the heel of her pink ballet flat and is out the change room door. It closes with a resounding bang.

Uh, okay then. Am I missing something here or did Maris really just imply that I smell bad? Furtively, I raise my arm and take a quick sniff. Okay, so I might not exactly smell like a basket of roses or anything but come on. I don't smell that bad. Rolling my eyes, I kick off my trainers and step out of my sweat pants. I grab my now-wrinkled jeans from out of my back pack and yank them on; I don't bother changing out of my sports bra, tank top and jacket. I figure Chaz can grow a pair for once and deal with it.

I quickly glance at my reflection in the change room mirror while jostling my way through the group of girls busily flat ironing their hair and reapplying make up. I don't really look all that bad. Yeah, my hair is a little damp and frizzy in its pony-tail from the rain, but my mascara isn't smudged or running so I figure it's all good. I pick my bag up, swing it over my shoulder, and head towards the door.

When I get to the front of the school, I don't see Maris or Chazz's black Ford Ranger anywhere in sight. Weird. I mean, I'm pretty sure Maris said he was in the front parking lot; and I'm also pretty sure that he would've texted Maris to let her know if he was going to go to the side parking lot instead. Slipping my phone out of my back pocket, I speed dial her number. Almost immediately I get her voice mail. I hang up and scan the dark, empty parking lot again, wondering if I'm going crazy. They wouldn't have left without me…would they? I collapse on the school's front steps and dial her number again. Again, I get nothing but her voicemail.

Alright. I know what you're thinking: WTF, right? As if my best friend just disappeared with her on-again-off-again boyfriend after she'd just offered me a ride home. Who does that? Not that this would be the first time that this has happened but still…

Well, whatever, I think, trying to keep the anger I've got slowly simmering under the surface in check. I'll just call Mom. Mom'll pick me up, no problem. I dial Mom's cell and after about a dozen rings, I get her voice mail too, which means she's probably driving. Mom never picks up when she's driving.

I let out a frustrated sigh, staring miserably out into the parking lot. Another flash of lightening tears across the sky, immediately followed by a ground shaking boom of thunder. I'm gonna tell you right now that there is a snowballs chance in hell that I'm going to willingly walk home in this.

Out of sheer desperation, I give Maris' number one last try but (surprise) nothing. Angrily, I pound my thumb against the Reject Call button. For fuck's sake. As if she seriously just ditched me; and right after implying that I smell bad, too. Not exactly Best Friend of the Year material right there.

I officially give up.

I sit on the steps, debating whether or not I should try Dad in the barn when a beat up looking piss yellow Camaro barrels its way around the far side of the school and into the front parking lot. I wait for it to pull out into traffic but, instead, it stops only a few hundred meters from where I'm sitting. I am half way through wondering who the hell would willingly drive such a wreck when the passenger side window rolls down and I see Garnet O'Conner leaning across the passenger seat.

"Need a ride?"

Chapter Five

"What?"

Just to be clear here, I heard what he'd said. I just wasn't entirely sure he was saying it to me.

"Do you need a ride?" he repeats, louder this time, over the sound of the rain noisily drumming against the roof of the ugly-as-fuck car.

"Uh…"

Is he shitting me? He has to be shitting me. I mean, what the hell is he thinking asking me, someone he barely knows, if I need a drive home?

I eye the car, unsure. It's either this, or wait for the storm to pass which, by the looks of things, isn't going to happen anytime soon. I rack my brain, desperately searching for any other option but this one. But that's the thing. I've officially run out of options.

Fuck it.

I stand up and hoist my back pack over my shoulder, ducking my head down to avoid the rain splattering into my face. I grip the door handle and jerk it open. In one swift motion, I thrust myself into the seat and slam the door shut behind me. The smell of fuel and pine scented air freshener immediately fills my nostrils.

"Thanks," I mutter, automatically locking my seat belt into place. Garnet slams his fist against the stick shift and we begin to pull out of the parking lot. "No problem." He says simply, like it really is no big deal that he just offered to go completely out of his way to drive me home in the middle of a borderline "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore" type storm.

I run a hand anxiously through my frizzy pony-tale and risk a quick glance at him. He's wearing a black bomber jacket over his dark blue hoody and a worn out looking pair of dark washed jeans. His messy brown hair is slightly damp from the rain.

I shouldn't be in this car with him right now. I should be with Maris and Chazz in Chazz's truck instead.

"I can't believe I'm here right now." I say aloud without thinking.

"You can duck down if you want, I mean, it won't hurt my feelings." He says, completely avoiding my gaze. His eyes stare unflinchingly out the front windshield.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean here with you, I meant like here in this situation. Um –"I cringe, feeling my face growing uncomfortably hot. "God, I didn't mean it like –"I notice the side of his mouth beginning to twitch. "You're joking."

Wow, I am officially even more of an idiot that I think I am. "I just…I meant like here in this situation, you know? The same situation I always tend to be in where my best friend ditches me for her boyfriend." I glance out the window at the blur of cars and rain.

There's a long uncomfortable silence and I find myself becoming hyper aware of the sound of the windshield wipers squeaking furiously as they go back and forth over the windshield and the rain pelting against the windows. I am practically waiting to see tumbleweed blow down the armrest between us. Finally I say, "I didn't know you had a car." Which is true. I really didn't. I'd never even seen him drive before.

"Yeah, it's not actually mine, it's my aunt's." he says, green eyes scanning the intersection we've suddenly stopped at. "But today was her day off so I got the car -which was pretty lucky considering the detention…" he trails off.

Oh, right. Ms. Brooks class.

"Yeah, Ms. Brooks is kind of a bitch like that." I say in an attempt to be sympathetic.

Garnet gives me a "No shit" look before pressing his foot back down on the gas.

"So…why are you driving you aunt's car? Can't you drive one of your parent's?"

What? It's a legit question, isn't it? I mean, why should he be driving his aunt's crappy Camaro when I'm sure his parent's own their own cars.

"Uh…I don't live with my parents. "

Well. That got awkward fast.

"Oh," I mouth silently.

He doesn't even look at me when he says, "It's not really that big a deal. My dad walked out before I was born so I didn't really get much of a chance to know him and my mom she…uh…" he trails off, swallowing hard. Oh great job, Em. You've probably gone and made him trigger some kind of awful repressed memory. Brav-o.

"It's okay; you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." I blurt." I mean, if it's about weird family dynamics I totally understand. Like, my mom, she hasn't talked to her parents or anything since they decided to join a Scientology cult and begin breeding Norwegian dwarf hamsters in Nebraska."

Smooth, Em. Smooth.

"Norwegian dwarf hamsters…?"

"Yeah, you know, they're the really, really tiny hamsters. They're, like, super small and um –"He glances away from the road just long enough to raise his eyebrows at me as if to say, "You were one of those stop-eating-the-paste kids weren't you?" I can see he is attempting- and failing- to hide a smile.

"You know what? I think I'm just going to shut up and not talk anymore. While I'm still ahead of myself here." I say, blushing hard. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Nah, it's okay." He says, grinning now, "In fact, you just made me feel a hell of a lot better about my family. Thanks for that - really."

"Uh any time?" I begin to fumble with the shoulder strap of my bag in an attempt to channel my out-of-whack nerves.

There's another brief uncomfortable silence and I find myself panicking to come up with another subject to leap to now that my whole "why do you drive your aunts car?" conversation attempt has totally bombed.

But mercifully, Garnet says, "Okay, I know this might seem a little random but can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"So if Maris ditches you so often for her boyfriend, why are you still friends with her?"

Okay. Was I the only one here who didn't exactly see that one coming? I honest-to-God thought he was going to ask me about Nigerian Dwarf hamsters or something.

"Um, well, the thing is..." I purse my lips, trying hard to think. God, why does such a simple question have such a complicated answer? I shrug. "I dunno. We've been friends since grade six and it would be kind of hard to just…stop being friends? I don't know. It's complicated. Why?"

"Why what?"

I roll my eyes "Why are you asking?"

It's his turn to shrug "Well, it's a good question. The girl treats you like shit and you're still friends with her. Kind of begs the question why, don't you think?"

"Well, okay but why do you even care?"

"Care about what?"

"Why I'm friends with Maris or not. I mean, you don't even know me."

"Sure I know you. We've been going to the same schools since kindergarten, haven't we?"

"Yeah but I mean like you don't know me know me."

There's a brief silence and I can tell he's trying to come up with a response to that one.

"I dunno…maybe it's because you don't really seem like the type of person that she'd be friends." he says simply. "And nobody deserves to be treated the way she treats you sometimes."

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Which part?"

The part about me not seeming like the type of person she'd be friends with." I say, my eyes practically rolling on their own. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That Maris is your classic vapid, blonde, captain of the cheerleading squad dating the school's star quarter back." He suddenly winces. "And you're…not."

"So what am I then?" I snap, "Some ugly, desperate….." I can't even finish, I am so at a complete loss for words." Or what?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all. It's just…shit; this is coming out all wrong." He say, rubbing his face with his hand and beginning to look slightly flustered.

"You think?" Seriously. What the hell is he getting at here?

"All I'm trying to say here is that friends wise I think you can do a little better than Maris..."

"Go on." I prompt, curious to see where he's going with this.

"Okay, look, we've been in enough of the same classes by now for me to know for a fact that your IQ isn't the same number as room temperature like Maris' is. And I know that you know that you have better things to do than play Cheerleader Barbie every other day after school. And I also know that you are probably the only straight female senior at West Jefferson High who realizes that Charles Hal is a narsistic ass hole with a Napoleon Complex. "

I blink, trying not to show how shocked I am by how dead on he is. "How the hell do you know that?"

He gives me a lopsided grin, "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you're not exactly the best at hiding your emotions? I see the way you look like a borderline suicide risk when you cheer at games."

The boy does have a point there, I'll give him that.

"Okay, fine" I sigh. "I get that me and Maris don't really have a whole lot in common but…I can't just stop being friends with her. There's so much history between us and she's really not that bad…" I know I should shut up now and demand why he gives a flying fuck about who I'm friends with and what I do but before I can, I am interrupted by the faint buzz of a cell phone vibrating. My eyes are immediately drawn to the phone in the driver's seat cup holder.

"Gimme a sec," Garnet says. Holding the steering wheel in one hand, he reaches for the phone with the other. He flips it open and presses it to his ear.

"Hi, Aunt Lydia." He says automatically.

I watch his eye shift back and forth over the wet tree-lined road ahead while he listens.

"Yeah, I know. I'm just uh…" he sends me a quick sideways glance, "giving a friend a lift home and then I'll pick it up…yeah, I know... Six. Got it…Uh huh…Yep…Okay…Bye." he snaps the phone shut and tosses it back into the cup holder.

"Your aunt?"

"Yeah."

"What did she want?"

"Nothing."

I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Didn't sound like nothing."

Garnet shakes his head. "Really, she didn't want anything. She's just being a little anal because she wants me to be home by six 'cause she's planning this over the top dinner for my birthday and she wanted me to pick up…" He stops talking and I know as soon as he's said it he immediately regrets it. It's totally obvious by the "oh fuck" look he's got written all over his face.

"Wait, hold on a minute. It's your birthday?"

"Uh yeah."

"As in it's your birthday today?"

"Yeah." He winces.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Was a supposed to?"

"Well, no, I guess not." I say, as if it really is no big deal that I've known him for roughly thirteen years and yet I still had no idea it was his birthday today. "But it would've been nice to know. I mean, I guess it's a little too late to say 'Happy Birthday' now, huh?"

"It's okay, you don't have to. It's not that big a deal." He says, lifting a shoulder as if to shrug.

"Well, it kind of is. Just saying."

"No, it's not."

"Sure, it is."

He gives me a look. "Trust me, it's really not."

I can't help it. I let out a snort. "You know who you sound like right now? Like one of those cranky old people in their fifties who say that their birthday is just another day of the year and they don't want to celebrate it or make a big deal out of it. And you're only what – eighteen now?"

It's only after the words have left my mouth that I realize; Wait a minute; am I…teasing him right now?

I watch as he rolls his eyes and silently shifts his foot to the brake pedal and it's only just now that we've come to a full stop that I notice where we are. We're parked at the end of my laneway. When the hell did that happen? And wait a minute…

"So do you want me to drop you off up at your house or…?"

I ignore him.

"How do you know where I live?"

"We used to carpool."

"Yeah, in, like, second grade." I scoff, "What are you, a savant for people's addresses or something?"

He shakes his head, looking suddenly embarrassed. "I'm not going to answer that." He says giving a nervous laugh.

I stare at him. I mean, I can't help it.

"You are so weird. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. I tend to get that a lot." He says, giving a lopsided smile.

His eyes shift away from the rain splattered front windshield and lock with mine. Jesus H. Christ their green. Have they always been that green? And is it really sad that it's only now that I've realized that he's actually kind of, sort of, (Oh my dear God!) okay looking? I mean, when the hell did that happen?

Okay, that's it. I gotta stop staring at him or he's gonna start to think I'm even more of a weird-o than he is.

I quickly glance towards the laneway and then back to him.

"It's okay, I can just get out here. And, uh, thanks for giving me a ride. Seriously. That was really nice of you."

"Well, you know, I try."

I give a small smile, unsure of what to do next. I mean, do I just walk out of the car now? Do I give him a thank-you hug? Or do we shake hands? God, why didn't Seventeen magazine ever prepare me for what to do when you get a drive home from the school's designated Boo Radley?

Before I can stop myself, I stiffly hold out my hand. It's like I've had the brain fart to end all brain fart's because I really don't have the slightest idea what the hell I'm doing right now.

One corner of Garnet's mouth lifts and he cocks an eyebrow at the gesture. "Okay?"

He releases his hand from the steering wheel and almost hesitantly goes to shake my hand. He grips my hand with his and - Oh why the hell did I decide it was appropriate to shake hands? I can feel my face beginning to grow unbearably warm at his touch and I suddenly get the feeling that someone has started to Riverdance in my stomach. Oh my God what is wrong with me? It's only Garnet fucking O' Conner, for Christ's sake.

After a good ten seconds of crushingly awkward silence, he says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "So…how long do these things usually last 'cause I should probably get going…"

"Uh yeah, me too. Get going, I mean." I say, embarrassedly pulling my now sweaty hand away and ducking my head down so he can't see how red my face has gone. "Happy Birthday, by the way," I mumble.

"Yeah, thanks. See you at school." He says, placing his hand back on the steering wheel and giving an awkward cough.

I grab my bag and just about leap out of the car. Almost as soon as I shut the passenger door, he's already pulling into reverse and speeding back down the road, sending mud and water flying. I'm left standing alone at the bottom of my laneway with the rain steadily spitting into my face and the cows in the pasture beside the road looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I am officially the biggest retard ever. "What the hell are you looking at?" I snap at them before I begin marching up the slippery laneway and towards the house.

Question: What the fuck just happened?

Chapter Six

"I'm hooooooome!" I shout first thing when I get through the mudroom door. I go through the same routine of kicking off my soaked trainers and dumping my bag on the floor beside the wooden coat rack. Skeeter doesn't even bother to greet me this time – just stares at me from on top of the plaid couch in the den across the hall.

"In here, Em!" Mom calls from the kitchen.

She's just putting a casserole in the oven when I walk in.

"What's up?"

"Oh nothing," she says, straightening up. "Dad just left to go to the Hardware store to pick up a replacement screw for the gate in the calving pen – you know the one Tom Hanks broke?"

Yep, that's how cool my dad is. He named every cow in our barn after a Hollywood movie star. I am not even joking.

"Mhm."

"And then he's helping Tom Brown coach Lenny's hockey practice so it looks like it's just going to be the two of us having dinner here tonight."

"What are we having?"

"Tuna Casserole."

I make a face. It pretty much goes without saying that I loathe Tuna Casserole. I mean, not only does it taste disgusting but isn't like %80 of tuna dolphin meat? I'm practically chowing down on Flipper.

"So." Mom says, peeling off her oven mitts and leaning against the granite countertop. "How was school? Fail anymore tests today?"

"Ha ha, you're hilarious." I grumble, heading for the fridge. I really hope to God that we have some leftover spaghetti and meatballs from last night's dinner. I'm telling you right now that there is no way I am going to willingly eat Flipper Casserole.

"I know," I hear Mom say as I begin ransacking the fridge. "Where else did you think you got that incontrovertible sense of humor from? Your father?" she jokes. I force a smile and grab the Tupperware container of cold leftovers. I put it on the counter beside the fridge.

I watch her take a quick look out the window over the kitchen sink.

"That rain is really starting to come down now. You know, I could've picked you up from your cheer practice so you didn't have to walk in this."

"I called actually, but you didn't pick up." I say raising my eyebrows at her.

"I didn't?" she says frowning. "Oh wait. It was probably you who called when I was driving home from picking Lenny up from school. I completely forgot to check my phone for messages when we got home."

Told you my mom never answers her phone when she's driving.

"Nah, it's okay. I ended up getting a drive home anyway." I say, avoiding her gaze by pretending to be busily prying open the container.

"Oh? From who? Maris?"

"Uh…no…."

"Chazz?"

I make another face. "God no."

"One of you friends from cheerleading?"

"Nope."

"Was it….a boy?" I see Mom give me a sneaky sideways glance.

"Maybe."

"Ooooh which one?" Mom says with a sudden sense of glee usually reserved for prepubescent girls getting ready for their first junior high dance.

I roll my eyes. "Come on, Mom, he's just…"

I pause for a moment, trying to think. What is Garnet to me, anyway? There's gotta be a label for it.

"An acquaintance," I say finally.

"Sure, he is," Mom says grinning from ear to ear now. "So what's his name?"

I wince with embarrassment. "Mom, please. He's not exactly my type. And you wouldn't know him anyway."

"Em, sweetie, since when do you have a type?"

"I dunno, but I can tell you right now that he's not it."

"Oh and why not?" Mom asks, placing her hands on her hips now. She looks like Wonder Woman in a "Kiss the Chef" apron and jeans. It would be hilarious if I wasn't too preoccupied with attempting to dodge Mom's never-ending questions.

"Mom, do we really have to have this conversation?" I ask, not really in the mood to explain to Mom that there is not even the remotest chance in hell that me and Garnet would ever end up together. Ever.

"Really, it was nothing. He just decided to be nice and offer me a drive home. And that's it."

Mom gives me a look, hands still firmly placed on her hips. She raises her eyebrows.

"What?"

"Please, Emma, before you bring your new opposite- sex- sex- partner home, make sure he's not a homosexual like the last one. Me and your father were kind of hoping that we'd get to be grandparents one day, and, you know, maybe adopt one of your children and get a second shot at raising kids. Really, do it right this time."

She gives me a smile to know she's just joking but I shake my head.

"Okay, Mom, I'm gonna go upstairs and do my homework now so…"

"Is he cute?"

I almost honest-to-God choke.

"What?"

"This boy that drove you home…is he cute at least?" she says, placing a hand on the counter and looking at me expectantly.

"Uh, I don't really think I'm at liberty to say." I say slowly, feeling my face growing hotter by the second.

"So he's cute."

"No. God, no." I say a little too quickly before beginning to fake dry heave. "Ew, no, that's just…no, no he's not. At all." I try my best not to think of the way he looked at me when we were parked at the bottom of the laneway and I admitted to myself that yes, okay, maybe Garnet was good looking. I blink hard and shake my head, trying to rid myself of the memory like an Etch and Sketch drawing.

"Okay, whatever you say." Mom says, giving me a little smile. "So when do your father and I get to meet him?"

"Okay, leaving now." I say, beginning to head for the kitchen door. "I think I'm going to have the leftovers from last night instead of the casserole so I'll just microwave them later when you want to eat."

"Invite him over for dinner this weekend. We can have Mexican night – it'll be fun!" she calls after me.

I head down the hall and up the stairs, going two and a time, trying not to laugh aloud at the thought of Garnet O'Conner bonding with my family over Tacos and guacamole. Yeah, right. Over my dead body.


End file.
